Holy cr#%! I'm a Soccer Parent!

Let me start by saying that I do not drive a mini-van. Now I feel better.
For the last 4 weeks I have been, searching the entire house for cleats, shin guards, socks, shorts, and water bottles. I have spent an entire afternoon creating and ironing on jersey numbers and logos. A sweet thunderbolt if you must know.

I spend the week driving my son and daughter to separate practice and match play fields. I cut oranges into slices for 7 to 11 children. I have never cut an orange into slices. I just like to peel them.

I carry folding chairs in the car at all times. I juggle schedules with my spouse so that our children can make every practice and game. I even let myself get talked into coaching this sport that I know absolutely nothing about.

Damn the World Cup. Who knew that watching a few matches would create a passion for sport in my children.

Saturday I witnessed my daughter break out of the amoeba of children surrounding the ball, and dribble it the length of the field and stuff it in for a goal. She thrust her hands up, and all the girls did cartwheels and jumped for joy. It didn't even matter that the other team was up by at least 17 goals.

I am ridiculously proud of my children, and would gladly drive to Cheyenne from Denver every day, with a giant bag of orange slices and my folding chairs, to witness my children jump for joy.